The Savage Gambit

by Samayel

An homage/retelling of Dangerous Liaisons/Cruel Intentions featuring Harry, Draco and Pansy in the central roles.

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write…are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

The Savage Gambit….by Samayel

My journal keeps all my dearest secrets, the ones I hold to myself, the ones I share when needed, and all my thoughts, foul and fair. Of course it's impenetrable. Without the key spelled for it the penalty for intruding on it would be painful in the extreme, more than enough to stop the curious in their tracks. That's why I can entrust to it my innermost mysteries. And one of those mysteries is on my mind even now.

Harry Potter is gay. If there is anyone else who knows this, I do not know who they might be. Possibly his friends from Gryffindor, but certainly no one else. No one else save me.

I've seen through his secrets and lies. I've watched him for years. It's been little more than an amusing hobby, since he has always been my favorite nemesis. A Slytherin studies his enemies as closely as he watches his friends. I think I'm aware of his preferences only because he has become more aware of them. He hides it, but not well enough to fool me.

I can see it in the shyness he exhibits under the right circumstances. In the nervous glances and in the mannerisms that he checks constantly so as not to betray himself. He blushes or stammers excuses and leaves whenever an attractive boy speaks to him. So many little clues, and no one else has noticed yet?

It's become more pronounced as we've struck our last year here. Obviously he's become more conscious of himself. The only question that remains is what to do with this information. Now that…that is quandary.

Naturally, these kinds of things mean oh so little to me. Gay, straight…its all the same really. Its just the capacity for attraction to another person, nothing more. Of course, people treat it as more, and that gives it power and meaning far beyond what it ought to possess…and I do like power.

Pansy's in rare form today. We've been bedeviling the younger years for our own amusement all day. One of those ordinary lazy Sundays in the Common Room, lounging indolently and enjoying our primacy. With Blaise and Nott firmly in the camp of allies, and Crabbe and Goyle effectively on the payroll as my henchmen, there's not a person to be found who can bother us for more than a heartbeat…and then they pay dearly for it.

Pansy…my only conquest unfulfilled. She's my match, my doppelganger, my equal and opposite number. We savor the same sweet cruelties, indulge in the same marvelous games of dominance, and what a subtle dance between us it has been. We've never paired off in any official capacity…not for lack of my having hinted at it. I have long suspected that, while she makes use of the occasional boy to serve her needs, her only real love is power. You can see how I might find that irresistible. I want her…but she'd see it as a shift in the balance of power, a change of the rules of the game, and so she's never dared to invite me into her bed.

We've both done so much…really everything else one could imagine. Slytherin is a fairly libertine House when all things are considered. We couple as we please as soon as we are old enough to handle it without disgraceful displays of excess emotionality. Hufflepuff milksops haven't any place in this atmosphere. Self control is key to survival, a poker face is a requirement for social advancement, but that doesn't mean there's no room for comfort or familiarity.

Boys, girls, or both at the same time…oh my Pansy and I have had our dear fun…and plenty of it…but if the truth is to be told…I'm utterly weary of it. I want my equal as a partner, nothing less. I want Pansy…and time is running out before our time in this House is at its end. Our parents will babble of marriage and ancestral duties, and we'll be parted by more than just social needs. I want her here, now, to cement my place in her memory now and forever…so that even should she find another to her liking, she'll let her mind drift back to me in the quiet hours…and I'll be waiting to answer her call.

Needless to say, with such a lofty goal, I'm dedicated to finding an opportunity…

"Draco, darling…whatever is occupying your scheming little mind?"

Pansy's interruption of my train of thought is welcome just the same. I've been staring too long into the fire and smirking wickedly over my own musings. We always know when one or the other is up to something.

"Oh. Just a newly found secret. Something delightful. I just haven't decided quite what to do with it as yet…although I can scarcely wait to find some novel way to put it work for our mutual pleasure, of course."

The hook is baited and Pansy is intrigued, she always makes that 'curious cat' look when her interest has been piqued.

"Ooooo, tell me, tell me, tell me! Is it blackmail…or a new trysting couple with something to hide? Or better still, some personal horrific shame that will make someone crumble just to dust if it comes to light?"

She's pulled close, flopping her head into my lap and looking upwards adoringly at me, eyes alight with the fire that only an opportunity for cruelty can bring. She knows that move has some slight influence over me. So kittenish when her claws aren't out. How I adore her when she's like this!

"Oh, Pans…for whatever reason would I simply give away a secret, even to you, my dearest…especially when it's as delicious as this one! So much potential for mayhem…I can barely contain myself. Maybe I should share it, and let our matched wits find a way to make the use of it the stuff of legends…but it simply isn't done…the giving away of precious information for free."

"Hmmmph! Soooo cruel…but you know it's why you of all of us here are the one I look to for company. What possible bribe could I offer you for this juiciest of morsels? Hmmm? Surely you have something up your sleeve, don't you? Name the price and we'll see…"

I lean in close, my finest Cheshire cat grin only a whispered breath from her ear. Each word is perfectly aimed to let the offer brush a soft breeze against the perfect shell of her ear.

"Imagine two titans of the ancient myths, in a sensual battle for the ages…two bodies and minds so skilled that their meeting could only be the kind of magic that makes wands passé. The secret involves a person of such notoriety, such interest to us all, so ideal for our meddling and amusements…that the only fitting price would be…our perfect union. Nothing less would ever do."

The soft gasp of surprise, and I can hear the wheels as they turn in her mind. Her head lifts up and we're so fiercely pressed together, the couch a suddenly stifling place for such a public display. How fortunate that neither of us possesses a sense of shame. Her whispered answer lilts to me while her nose brushes my neck, just beneath the ear.

"Well, aren't you the bold and cocky one. I thought you'd exhausted yourself and had done with chasing after me. So many wonderful little playthings you've had…but here we are again. You must think your secret a very fine one, indeed. Perhaps I haven't said yes…but I also…haven't…said…no. I agree to negotiations only, I smell blood…and I'd like to see where this leads."

My arrow has hit its mark. Cat-curious, she can't say no to the chance to wreak new havoc. Perhaps this will ultimately place me where I most desire to be…somewhere between her silken thighs, kissing with tongues of poison, savaging one another as only we two ever could! I whisper back, our languorous movements disguising our speech. To all present, you would never know that we were doing more than some humble teenaged necking, but the dance of dominance between us is a hidden beauty like a veiled consort.

"Our subject of interest is Potter…the very cream of Gryffindor's crop. Imagine the coup available to us, if we just find the right way to pull him into some web of our design? Is that enough, my dear…enough to whet your appetite?"

"Mmmmm…how perfect! Potter does make a fine target…and you have something wonderful to tell regarding him! A point to you, my dear Draco. You do have something that might just be worth my talents and yours combined…in so many more ways than one."

"You trust my instincts with regard to sensual prey, do you not, Pansy-dear? I've never failed. I always catch the scent of a person's nature, sometimes before they even know themselves. If you trust those instincts, and you know I do not exaggerate their strength, then you know that I have Potter all figured, as calculated as an equation, mine to unravel if and when and how I choose. For you, the ultimate prize, I'll put my skills to work howsoever you see fit."

"Ahhh…you do have a tasty morsel! Draco, darling…I see what you've twigged to, he isn't a ladies man is he? Our little home grown hero is aching for a lover's embrace…and aching for a man at that. What a perfect game I see unfolding, and I'll place my very self on the offering table for you, but on a single glorious condition. No less. I want you to seduce him…in just two month's time before the break…and when he is yours and yours alone, utterly dependant on your affections…destroy him. If you can do this, then, and only then, I will be yours."

"So easy, Pansy? You ask so little? Do you take this as a joke between us, a trifling? There isn't such a creature as a person I cannot tumble into bed, almost at will, and make them glad for the chance of it. You tease me with deceptions, though I adore you for it!"

"You overestimate yourself, and underestimate your prey. Potter is no winsome little virgin just panting away for a chance at the first cock he sees. He despises you. You've spent years taunting him, making his days a misery, laughing at all he holds dear. You really imagine even skill such as yours could crack the armor he's built against you? In his sight you are the devil in his personal hell. You won't find him half so easy as the confused innocents you've plucked before. He knows your reputation, your past exploits are the talk of Hogwarts. My offer stands, but there's a price if you fail too. You will do my bidding, in every possible respect, to my complete satisfaction, for an entire week. No matter what I ask of you, it will be done, without complaint, whether foul or fair. Is that a high enough risk for you to see this as a real gambit and not some simple lie?"

Oh, but my Pansy does love a spectacle! She'd exercise her cruelest wit on me if I were her subject and slave for a week. You can be sure she wouldn't skimp because of some soft heartedness. If I don't win, my suffering will be legendary, in this world and the next! How utterly delicious! How woefully she underestimates my talents. Even with just a month or two to work with, I can charm Potter's dimpled knees apart…and once I've given him every unspeakable pleasure, every joyous release his imagination could never have devised alone…then I will lay him aside and cast him off…and claim the pleasures that are genuinely due to me!

-2

Even rushed, it's important to lay the proper groundwork. Potter may not be as simple as intimated, but that doesn't change the task before me, or how I undertake it. It calls for artistry. Subtlety. No crude wooing would suffice, but that's why I'm so very, very different from other hunters that set their sights on human game. I study my prey with a care I don't share in detail. I know their whims and moods, their needs and wants. I dwell IN them, knowing their intimate desires and secrets…and when I understand them I can bait my trap.

The key is perception. Potter perceives me as his foe, and in undermining that perception I can make him doubt himself completely. When his world is spinning and he questions his own senses, he will be vulnerable to my approach…and it will be tailored precisely to him.

It begins with matching his behavior. The stray glance…the nervous turn away when seen. I see the contempt on his face when he catches me looking at him, but I made my face a study in innocent confusion and unrequited longing. When he glares, I am crestfallen, hurt beyond words but too proud to say it. I turn away with cheeks I make aflame, and he knows that I am embarrassed to have been witnessed desiring him, and doubly embarrassed to have been dismissed with such hostility. I am the wounded party, the victim of his prejudice and cruelty…and his nature cries out to feel guilt for such a thing.

In mere days his eyes are mine alone. He cannot help himself. I am the subject of his scrutiny, although he believes it is the other way around. I lead the prey to hunt me…even as it imagines that the chase is something they intended. He does not know that I have placed myself within his sight purposefully, always precisely what he needs to see, no more.

Others talk. Only Pansy knows that I am hunting, but the school itself is abuzz with the word that I secretly desire Potter and failed for the first time at hiding my intentions. I won't speak ill of him at any time, nor will I let the face so many know slip free. In his eyes and the eyes of all, there is only Draco, the lovestruck playboy who has abandoned all his other companions.

I seem adrift and alone, and even my other classmates scorn me for a fool. While Pansy enjoys the role of sole queen of Slytherin, I fall to the wayside, mocked and jeered at. How she adores the march into the dining hall daily, observed by others like a social luminary. She holds court even while we dine…and I am pariah. A leper in the presence of decent folk. He sees me suffer their verbal lashes, and when he turns away from our meeting gazes…at last his face shows something that isn't contempt. Curiosity takes root where hatred once fanned its flames.

Before the week is out I set the time and place for our first showdown. All moves according to my plans, and he stumbles upon it innocently enough, thinking he overhears something never intended for his ears. I argue with a classmate from my own house, defending Harry's name just loudly enough to be heard around a corner. When he comes around the corner to witness whatever spectacle included a spirited defense of his character, he finds me his ardent champion.

"Harry's not like any of you think! You're all wrong! All of you! He's better than that! He's more decent than any of you, more worthy! You haven't got the right to…"

And in the middle of my speech I hear his footsteps stop and his gasp of breath, confused and uncertain. I turn in horror, perfectly feigned, and let the blush rise to my cheeks just before dashing away. To him, I desire nothing more than to have my words forgotten, my unintended speech stay a secret. He must have heard the rumors. Surely he knows I desire him, but that I dare not speak it aloud. I suffer in silence with a love I can't share in his presence because he holds me to be unworthy.

He finds me of his own volition soon after. I placed myself with such skill that his own house informed him of my location, as if I didn't desire his company. They saw me stifle tears of shame and humiliation, hiding myself away in an unused classroom. Before the hour is out he finds me. Such a noble heart he has. Because I am the tormented, and not the tormentor, he gives comfort even if he doesn't see it as the precursor to his inevitable need for me.

The door opens and closes and his steps grow near while I hunker in a corner, face in my hands, artfully ravaged by tears that shed only because I commanded them to do so. He tries to be cold and sensible…even while the empathy drips from him.

"Hey…I…I just wanted to…y'know…make sure you were alright."

"Please…don't worry for me. It's…it's nothing. There's nothing you can do. I'm beyond help, Potter."

The challenge to his ability to make a difference, the implication of helplessness. He cannot abide them. A well timed sniffle of hopelessness and his efforts to help are redoubled.

"Malfoy, if it were nothing you wouldn't be here. Did…did you get into trouble…because of what you said…about me?"

"And if I did?" I answer. "It's a trouble of my own choosing…and it isn't one you could fix, even if you wished to. It doesn't matter though. They can't hurt me…because I don't care what they think about me. I just…I…"

He kneels in front of me, trying to make my head lift to meet his gaze, making it clear that he cares enough to try…even with a person he sees as a many times thorn in his side.

"Hey…Malfoy…it's alright. If you really need to talk about something…I promise I'll listen. Don't…don't just shut yourself off from everyone."

I laugh a sad, desperate laugh. A tortured and grief stricken laugh with layers to decipher. "Of all the people to…Potter…why you? It shouldn't be, but it is. You can't help me with what hurts me, and you don't even see why. I can't even say which hurts more."

He isn't that thick…Gryffindors can be empathetic and perceptive at times, even if their heroism clouds any semblance of judgment. He gets it at last. What he's witnessed over the past week comes back to him, all making sense so suddenly.

"You…you mean? You…really…? Me…for me?! I…I'm sorry…"

His confusion tears him apart as he runs away. A brave little hero in the battle for the world, a terrified child in matters of the heart. He can't handle the sudden rushing influx of the 'truth' I've built for him to discover.

-3

When he finds me next, I 'try' to play it cool and act as if I'm hiding some terrible hurt that runs deep, rebuffed and abandoned, pretending not to have been wounded so cruelly by his sudden departure. He chases me down and corners me with such intensity in his eyes. Pools of green, afire with high emotion. We find privacy to have it out at last.

"You're insane! Look, Malfoy…I appreciate…you know…what you said to that guy. I do! It was…it was kind, but…I don't want to give you any wrong ideas. If you need help…real help…I'd give it…but I can't do that. I can't…be with you."

He's so awkward, never saying things openly. How sweet it is that he can't even use the proper words for the concepts. I hold onto the look of 'wounded cool', distant and not daring to open up and be hurt again.

"You're right. Perhaps I am insane. I finally know what I want, and there is no one else I could want. And cruelest of ironies, it's the one thing I cannot have. Something so beautiful and good that it makes me look back at my life and hate everything I've been. I don't disagree with you. I know it can't be, Potter. It doesn't matter what I want or feel…it matters that, after the things I've done…you would never have a wretch like me. I try to be a better person…but I know it will count for nothing. You deserve unblemished excellence…and stained as I am…I can never be what you deserve."

His empathy kicks in even while his indignation fights against it. His face wrestles with emotions so plainly, nothing hidden from the practiced eye.

"I don't believe you! Without even trying you've made us into the talk of the school! I don't…grrr…I don't want you to hate yourself…but…I just…I can't go out with you. You say those things…but they call you a silver tongued devil everywhere you turn. How am I supposed to believe anything you say after the things you've done?"

There is nothing to be gained from total deception…here the truth is my ally, my perfect sword because there is no shield against it. I shrug hopelessly, smiling like an idiot who knows that he has no chance of redemption and has accepted what is to be without reservation.

"I know, Potter…and that's the part that makes me long all the harder. Perhaps it isn't fair, but its justice, isn't it? I shouldn't be believed. I wouldn't believe me if another with my record came to me with such a thing. I'd tell them they were a fool or a liar, tell them I couldn't possibly trust them. What could a person do…to prove their worth after doing so many things wrong? It's pointless, hopeless even…but I can't control what I feel anymore. I don't care about my reputation. To hell with my position or my pride. They're worthless…compared to being able to hold someone real, someone worth any sacrifice to protect and love."

My arrows hit their mark, just as they always do. He's helpless in the face of his own split heart. I've cut a line down the middle of his mind, and on one side lives the Draco he has always known, cruel and self indulgent…while on the other lives a new creature, an undiscovered being full of complexity and possibilities.

"If.." he stammers, "…if I were even to consider such a thing…you'd have to prove yourself. And I mean it. You say these things, but they're just words. If I saw something…something that made me think it was really like that…then…"

"Then watch me. Or send others. I am who I am. I've done what I've done. The past is already written, but I'm not just some collection of things already done. I want so much…to leave all of that behind and be who I've always wanted. Everything where I come from is a filthy swamp of deceit and desperate scrambles for survival. Can you imagine what it's like? To guard yourself constantly, to feign indifference when your heart is screaming out for something more, something decent and right? I've done terrible things just to make my way, and they shaped me into someone even I despise. If I prove myself to you, if I show who I am on the inside, show who I want to be, would there be a place beside you for me? Would I have a reason to…to even hope that someday I'd be worthy of you?"

The gauntlet is thrown down. He accepts because he HAS to. It's built into his very nature. Gryffindor is the house of headlong rush into danger, of courage when caution ought to have been used instead. For all their good intentions, they can scarcely control themselves when it comes to a challenge or a duty. Beneath that courage is need. Buried in him is a secret want he's never dared to voice. A desire that was fluttering into being on its own, a tiny flame I can kindle into a great fire. His undoing, the end of his innocence and isolation, they won't come because he sets them aside, ready to face the future…they'll come because I fostered in him a need so great that he'll cease to care for such things. Caution will be thrown to the wind, and I will be the danger into which he rushes headlong, a true Gryffindor to the end.

-4

Now it truly begins. I said I know my prey, but have I said how well? I know his 'style', his 'essence'…what makes him quintessentially Potter. He won't dare tell his housemates, the Weasel or Granger, what he's actually considering. He has a cloak I've heard the rumors of, and he'll use that himself to watch me, but knowing that I am watched, every move will be calculated to gain his trust, to tease his empathy, or to sway his affections.

I know he'll see what I leave to be seen, what I portray with care every minute of every day. I will emote from every pore of my being the very picture of earnestness and eagerness to prove my worth. And already plotted long before this gage was cast at his feet will be acts of kindness and decency that he will witness, always thinking that I couldn't know of his presence.

The façade will never crack, never waver for even a moment. I will nobly endure the slings and arrows of my former allies, all astounded by my change of demeanor and happy to mock me and capitalize on my change of ways. I will be found reading books of moral philosophy with a studious face, or feeding and caring for owls in the towers to pass my time showing gentleness to other creatures. I am witnessed treating our junior classmates with an unfamiliar kindness and concern, giving direction to the first years and helping them to laugh off their fears and worries. In every circumstance that he might observe, and even those he couldn't, I am the picture of reform.

It is a lonely time. He does not give away much, but I see the vaguely guilty flush of his cheeks when I am near. He knows more than he says, and has followed me as I expected, and what he's found has bothered him. My words and my challenge have been answered, but he doesn't dare admit defeat yet. He wants so dearly for this to be untrue, for a sneer or snarl to give him cause to ignore me. He wants to feel justified in his suspicions, all of which were merited, but I give him nothing.

I find my comfort in the Owlery, with the more agreeable birds that enjoy treats and grooming…or in the simple pleasures of laughing at the antics of younger students while I help them. It's all part of the act, but they are small pleasures to bide the time. My kindnesses pay their dividend, in that I at least seem to have turned many a distrustful Hufflepuff into admirers or defenders of my changed conduct. Fools they might be, but sweet fools, and the conversation helps to dim the pain of Harry's absence while I wait for him to make himself available to me. Likewise the absence of my old companions. I live a monk-like existence, devoid of the sensual, empty of my old amusements.

Only Pansy slips me a note with the greatest of discretion in Slytherin. I dare not answer it and cast it into the fire after reading it. "Time is growing short." She knows I have less than a month left. She taunts me because she can…because she is so sure that I can't do this. How shocked she'll be when I unveil it like a virtuoso performance for all to witness.

I do not doubt, but I do feel a creeping eagerness. Asceticism does not suit me after a libertine existence. I can feel a hunger for the final conquest even while I maintain a perfect exterior calm. It will make it all the sweeter when I plunder his body and give him, and myself, such overwhelming pleasure that description would only cheapen it.

-5

He hasn't got a heart of stone. He never did. The eyes give everything away, and he made it to our thirty-seventh day since the hunt began, which is quite impressive, given that I've rarely needed more than a few days to curry favor until someone warmed my bed. But this isn't to be the day of bed play…it's still too far from the deadline…Pansy would be far more astonished if I time this for the last days of our arrangement. Let her imagine sweet victory a little longer. That makes the turnabout and my final celebration all the more enjoyable.

He finds me in the Owlery, because he may pretend that it is chance, but he must have followed me here time and again. I feign surprise. I am tending to the feathers of a fine old gray owl with magnificent talons and a regal air. Perhaps Potter has even heard me chatter with the birds while I worked. He knows that I treat them with fondness, doing a chore most ignore without complaint, and that I confide in them sometimes, complimenting them here and there. I taught myself to know their needs just the way I'd stalk human prey, and it was only the smallest of the efforts I've put forth to acquire Potter as my own.

"Potter…"

I have the mournful expression of a man helplessly in love with the one before him, but resigned never to be looked on as more than an unwanted suitor. I let his name hang between us, leaving a heavy sigh as punctuation.

"Malfoy…do you…do you come up here much?"

"Maybe I do…sometimes. I don't really want to talk about it." I ignore the urge to make him uncomfortable with a heated stare…and focus on the owl beside the window. Let him answer my turned back. As if I am the one torn by discomfort and will not face him.

"What? I'm not going to tease you. Why do you spend so much time with them? You can tell me. Just…talk to me. I came to see you."

I let a whiff of irritation flow from me, shoulders tight, neck a little strained, voice hinting at a person almost afraid of showing a part of themselves they hold dear and never share. He asked why I spend 'so much' time…and even if he doesn't know it, he's given away that he's been spying upon me.

"You have to know?" I step toward the window and stare out into the nighttime sky. "Because I can be myself around them. In here I have no reputation to live down, no one to judge me for my own stupidity. I'm kind to them, and they accept that without demanding anything in return. It isn't like that with people. People see you how they want, imagine you based on some things that are true, and others that aren't, and you're never really free of who you've been or what they think, even if you try not to care. The owls aren't like that. It's…it's just good to feel this free, even if its only for awhile. Maybe I was a fool to even ask those things of you…before. Don't worry after me. I think…I think I like who I'm becoming, even if it means nothing for us. If I become a better man, even if it was in vain, even if it was started for a love I can't have and don't have the right to ask for, it won't have been wasted."

So quiet, and then a hurried footstep and he pulls at my arm to turn me. Facing him I see how torn he really is, how desire and fear wash together in his stance and expression. Before I can say a word he pulls me into a kiss I did not expect. A hungry kiss, aching with promises, trembling with an amateur's desperate wish to please. It lingers beautifully, in starlight by a window with a breeze flowing in from the night, and I can feel tears on his cheeks when he melts against me.

It's all I can do to seem shocked but pleased. I want so desperately to pounce and plunder, to tease and please and savor. Not yet. When we part his eyes are full of sudden embarrassment at his own display. His cheeks burn with stifled emotions that he so dearly wants to let rule him. If I pushed a little further he'd break, but I don't dare. It must be perfect. I only smile, warm and glowing, grateful for whatever he would offer me, but I do not push. He recovers his manners, but the sea change has already happened. The tide of his emotions is on my side now.

"I…uh…I don't think you were a fool. And…um…maybe…it wasn't…you know…in vain. If…you wanted to maybe…take me for a walk or something…I…I wouldn't mind that…I mean…if you still wanted to?"

I rest my head on his shoulder like a man wearied from a long battle, grateful just have a moment's peace and rest.

"I scarcely deserve such a thing…but it would give me a happiness I cannot adequately express just to be by your side, to hear your voice, to have your company. I would not dare to ask of you more than that, and I give you my most profound thanks. You do not know how much what you offer means."

He does not kiss me again, still ashamed of his own boldness, still reeling from having surprised himself by showing his desire so openly. My hard work, my sacrifice, my dedication to craft have paved the way to this. We've set a date, and tomorrow we will pass the day in one another's company in the setting of his choosing. For me, I have the memory of that chaste yet starving kiss, that mad hunger beneath his modest exterior. It possessed a whisper of something I'd almost forgotten. Innocence. Such a strong person by reputation, so thought of as competent and decisive. Only I know this tidbit of his psyche, this tremulous, terrified and virginal naiveté. So diffident, so gentle and timorous. I could call it weak, if I wanted to, but I find it charming in its own way.

A little longer. I can make this a sweet, sweet lasting thing, a magical time. I know I'll have to take it from him before we are done, but until that time I'll savor it for precisely what it is, let it be slow and wondrous in its own right, only to be plucked and devoured when the fruit is properly ripened.

-6

These weeks, how I have treasured them. All the more for their bittersweetness. What could I tell you of him? I know more than anyone has ever known of him. He responds to kind words and genuine gestures like a flower in spring, a fragile bloom opening with trepidation, craving the warmth that the sun can offer, and I have been that glorious sun.

We have walked in gardens and deserted halls, talking of great things and small. It is easiest in these things to let myself go, to feel free and let it flow naturally. He's so new to this that it echoes off the walls around him. The tension and need, the curiosity and excitement. We are so close in age, but in experience we might as well be from other worlds. Where he sometimes stutters from genuine nerves, I must fake hesitation. When he seems uncertain about what to say or do next, I know what ought to be done, were I with another of similar experience, but I chose what needs to be done, to make him feel at ease.

There have been more kisses. Some of them chaste pecks, just sudden thanks for a kind word or a squeeze of his hand while we walk, others deep and with that now familiar hunger lurking beneath their surface. He is frightened of his own capacity for intimacy. I can feel it beating in his breast…the overwhelming lust to cast aside all boundaries, all expectations or barriers…and let the sensual rule him…through me. He wants it…that sweet surrender to someone who will know with certainty how to please him as an adult and an equal. Still I have not pushed him toward this. There's no challenge to prodding him toward the inevitable. It must come from him, with only the gentlest of manipulation from myself. This is the art, the subtlety I possess.

It has been a pleasure for me as well, in some rewarding little ways. Seeing this romance unfold through his eyes is the only way I can see it as innocent...a sentiment and state of being that is no longer possible inside myself. In his shining green eyes I can see his excitement and sense of wonder. I see myself through them, or the self I have projected into being to lure him to me. How wonderful it must be to have his capacity to believe in another. I envy him that.

In some ways he is not at all who I expected. In our walks and talks I have learned more of him than any other. If I were only the better person I have claimed, I would feel honored that he has shared so much. His childhood in particular. Small wonder my instincts told me of his desperate need for love. His upbringing was a far cry from what any wizard or witch would imagine. Even in the little home of humble but prosperous Muggles, he was assigned a poverty that would shock and appall. Despised by his guardians, cuffed and beaten, locked in a cupboard beneath the stairs, a lightless and squalid tiny hovel in the midst of suburban Muggle-dom.

Some would have been so twisted by such an experience that death by their own hand or containment by authorities would be needed. But not Harry. In his way he has been very strong, very patient, more forgiving than those who have transgressed against him deserve. It should be thought admirable. It is, however, only to my advantage.

In knowing these things, I know what he needs more than ever, more clearly than even before. I know with precision how to nourish his fledgling heart, building its courage with regard to me. I embolden him with words and gestures, making him come truly alive. His every step is a little more lively, no longer furtive or nervous. His speech a little bolder and clearer. Whatever power I may have to destroy…I also have to create, to make that which is good and wholesome grow. I did not know I possessed this…until I saw how dramatic the effect of my attentions were upon him.

It's disconcerting…at times. In privacy I confess this. It would shame me to no end to have it widely known that my feelings have become somewhat…muddled. I know my course is set, and I know my plan moves to its ultimate fruition…but still, some part of me wishes dearly that I had more time. Months or even just weeks to take pleasure from this process.

Pansy's most recent gloating note reminds me of our diminishing timeline…but I am certain of my victory…it does not sting because of that. I know that it bothers me precisely because it illuminates how little time I have left…time I have…in truth…enjoyed immensely.

His is not the only gentle heart I have ever crushed. This should not vex me this way. I am entangled within my own scheme, inextricably drawn to a conclusion I am no longer so sure I desire.

Pansy. I know that I desire her, her wit, her magnificent and towering arrogance, her deliberate use of power to suit her needs. So admirable to every proper Slytherin sensibility. I tell myself this was all for the achievement of my ultimate goal. All for my own pleasure. I had purpose and meaning and decisive intent. Where has that gone in these weeks of idle and childlike bliss with a naïve virgin who wandered witless into the jaws of a trap I set for him? I should savor the coming kill…not find myself at cross purposes!

It's pure weakness. It's likely the by-product of my enforced solitude. My brush with virtue and chastity has left me vulnerable to a desire I have solemnly focused on a single person. Surely…surely it will be relieved when I have finally glutted my every lust on his person. Then I should be able to return my focus to the task at hand. Then I will know my own mind and will with clarity once again.

-7

It has not been an easy path to this triumph. There have been obstacles, not the least of which has been the confusion within me that has plagued me from time to time. As it became clear that I was growing closer to Potter, Pansy has become nervous, seemingly offset by the realization that I'm taking my time despite a relationship that all can see unfolding.

Her sharp barbs and implied denials that I will succeed mean little to me. I know how close I am, how easy it would be. If anything, I have fended off Harry's advances, keeping ours a chaste affair, still the martyr who claims that he is not worthy of such a gift. He feels utterly safe in my arms, and in that safety he finds himself unafraid to give. Where someone who clearly desires to take would be rebuffed, I, who refuse to press for more than my due, will be given everything of his own free will.

Even in this final week, with Pansy trying to pretend that her loss isn't near at hand, I find it comforting to know that I've won before the matter is even closed. She wouldn't be so nervous if she weren't already aware of it herself. She knows I'm close to my goal…and can only be holding back for dramatic effect. She does know me well…and even that is pleasing...for it means I've been subject to scrutiny by the one I desire above all.

And yet…here I find myself, with thoughts of him almost perpetually in my mind. I do crave victory…over Pansy, and with the acclaim and admiration that such a public coup would give me. But…I do not want THIS to end. I have never felt so worthy as I have by his side. There should be nothing genuinely noble within me, but I find it strangely easy to put forth the best side of myself, to project an image of grace and reason and dignity for his sake. It wouldn't be impossible…to live this way…as this image I have spun from whole cloth. Fiction it might be, but in its way it IS a fiction I have created. It IS me. I could be this, to him, for as long as he would have me.

I mentioned other obstacles. As we've grown closer, others have noticed. It was one sort of matter when I was an unwanted suitor who would never be considered…it became another matter when he made me his constant companion, his public partner in the eyes of others. His friends decidedly

disapprove of me. The Weasel and Granger have viewed me with scorn for as long as we've walked these halls, but that scorn has turned more dangerous…into open threats if Harry's well being isn't guarded with care. As far as they are concerned, I can only bring harm, never happiness. They aren't wrong…but I want them to be.

How I would like to make them eat their angry words, a rousing supper of crow. I could. If I made Harry my own and chose this existence for good and all. They would be left stewing in their venom, amazed that they were wrong about me. It's in my power to make such a thing real. There must be a way. I just don't know how to claim all that I desire without losing some part of it.

Whichever way I turn there will be some cost. If I have Harry and wish to keep him, I cannot claim my rightful due with Pansy, no matter how much I deserve the prize I fairly won. If I take my due from Pansy, I will surely lose Harry in the bargain…and I find it troubling that such a thing would even be thought of as a loss. I was…different…when this began. It would not have worried me, even in the slightest, if some starry eyed virgin were cast out of my bed so that I could return to a life of sensual plenty. Now, in this late hour, I find myself more concerned with the idea of Harry's absence from my life than I imagined was possible.

It's intolerable. There MUST be a way to escape these soft chains I've placed around my heart. I am the prisoner of the trap I designed, and I am not a creature lightly caged. There MUST be a way to free myself of this! Something…something must give, but my pride forbids that it be me! All that I have been and done cries out for a resolution that leaves me atop a hill of the defeated! This cannot be me, torn between the soppy love of fables and the realities of Slytherin society!

And yet…here I remain. Exactly that.

-8

It came to this. The last days before we depart to break, home for a short while before we return and finish our studies. I did not err. The thought of my absence did the work in Harry's gentle heart that I did not need to do. We have grown so close, so swiftly, that he cannot easily bear the idea of our parting. His gesture is meant to bind us, so that even far away he will be at the forefront of my mind. He should know that he already is, but Gryffindor is the house of caution cast aside, of action instead of thought. He offers what he has to give…the whole of himself.

It is a meaningful gesture. I have ached for this, endured without the world of the sensual for weeks on end. For his sake I have played the gentleman, and if the truth is told I could not have said no even if I had desired to refuse him. In a hidden room, well appointed and comfortable, we have stolen away to luxuriate in one another's company for the first time.

Petty words would only soil such a time, but it should be said that I gave all that I could to please him. Few virgins are treated to such an ideal first time. So often it's a fumbling affair between either two relative innocents with only the slightest hint of how to give pleasure, or a hasty encounter between one person who dearly desires their own pleasure at the expense of the inexperienced partner. It is a far different thing between Harry and I.

I have boundless experience, the kind gained only by a life of what others would call riotous self indulgence. Harry has no experience at all, but a heart that swells and bursts with genuine desire. I want every satisfaction to be his, every pleasure I can command and marshal, all for his benefit, not just my own. His awkwardness and hesitance are not offensive or clichéd, and I teach with a patience I did not know I possessed until it was needed.

A day and a night we are together, separated from the great mass of students in a room where we can be ourselves, high in a tower, naked and free, curled abed, asleep or awake, feasting or frenzied by passion. He has a fine body, too often hidden under uniforms that don't flatter him. I discover all of him as no other ever has, or ever could. Only I have ever heard him cry out in ecstasy. Only I have ever seen the look of surprise upon his face when he learns his own capacity for lust. Half ashamed, half enraptured…and wholly beautiful.

In repose, I look back on my work with pride. He rests beside me, a dreamy smile on a face so frequently marred by worry or stress. I gave him this smile, and I meant him to have it. He well deserves it, having waited so long, alone and afraid inside, sure that he wasn't desirable to others, sure that a moment like this would never come. Come it did, and I delivered it to him, all that I had promised myself it would be.

I have awakened a kernel of confidence in him that he never knew he could have. A sense of the sensual, and a hunger for exploration beside someone he trusts implicitly. He KNOWS that he is desirable, and that the pleasures of intimacy are within his grasp if he just reaches for them. A scant day ago, this was not true, but now a wiser and happier Harry stands in the place of the shy child that walked in here before.

Not enough time. There is so much more I could teach, so much more he is eager to learn. And there simply isn't time left to take. Pansy awaits her answer. By now I'm sure our mutual absence has been noticed. It's clear to the insightful or observant persons that our forbidden romance has finally borne fruit. We are united, and as word spreads it cannot be denied.

I must be mad. In this bed I have a partner who, for all their naiveté, is worthy and gentle and warm, and yet I rise in silence and dress, letting him slumber in innocence. I belong here, with him, in the warmth and safety of his arms. Is it pride that drives me so? Is it some unwillingness to abandon the course I set for myself? I surrendered much for this victory. I gave so much of myself, even suffering these doubts and fears, alone with no one to share them. Am I to have nothing for them, no reward at all?

I leave him to wake alone, while I make my way to Slytherin's commons, where no doubt Pansy will be waiting, but I find myself looking back over my shoulder, painfully conscious of the place I so greatly wish I could remain.

-9

Pansy looks ill at ease. My smirk of confidence doesn't seem to faze her visibly false pose of indifference.

"Well, the matter is at its close. I've won, my dear, and you really should have known that with something so very desirable to me on the line, there was no way I'd have tolerated failure. It was a foregone conclusion. Still, there should be no bad blood between us, my darling. Here we are, the battle is over, so let the peace making be a sweet one, no?"

She stares at me from the couch, looking flippant but clearly rattled. Her answer is more disappointing than I expected.

"Peace-making? I think not. We are, for better or worse, still at war. The battle isn't over at all. You've accomplished the first part…I'll grant you…but the second remains in question. Potter was to be seduced and destroyed. I may accept that you've seduced him…that much is certain to all. As for destruction…there's no evidence of it as yet…and you have a single day left. Don't you dare claim from me some prize you haven't earned."

She has me. I had hoped to bluff…claim her…and yet do no damage great enough to make a reconciliation with Harry out of reach. It was a faint hope at best. I hope my poker face hasn't given away too much. Can she see the split intentions in me?

"What could be more devastating than to have been cast aside after a first night of bliss? His destruction is complete. I gained his trust, and now he lies alone, and alone he'll remain. For a virgin…much less a Gryffindor…what more could be done to break their tender little heart? I've done all that was asked of me…in entirely good faith. Methinks you doth protest too much! Does the prospect of a positively orgiastic night with me offend you so much? Or is it the damning knowledge that I've bested you in this little contest? I am owed…and I mean to collect!"

She is adamant, her cool rattled but her nerve still intact. The poisonous gaze she casts at me is an omen of ill tidings. Her ire is up. This…it won't be pretty.

"Oh…I'll just forgive your insolence…for a price. If you complete the deal, you'll have your reward…but I mean to see it done. Go back to him. Destroy him utterly. Make him certain that he's been exploited and thrown aside…and when his suffering is the talk of the town…you'll have won the right to me. Nothing less, nothing more. Seduce…and destroy. That was the bargain."

My temper frays. If I were forced to…I could admit that the enormity of what I am contemplating bothers me more than anything has ever upset me before. I am suddenly too emotional, a state almost alien to me, and I do not wear it well.

"FINE! As…you…wish! You desire destruction…I WILL give you destruction! You doubt me? You look to find ways to escape your debt? I'll meet your every requirement…and THEN some…but…but when I've settled the last of them…I'll be sure to take what's mine…and if you've made the getting of it into a war instead of a contest…let me say that your regrets will be that much the greater than my own!"

I storm away, back down the halls and towards the tower where my night of bliss with Harry was spent so recently. I can feel my face burn with genuine anger for the first time in memory. I want satisfaction. I want her to eat her mocking words. I want her bent before me, not as some equal in pleasure, but as a supplicant. If I'm to hurt to have what I've worked for…then so be it…but everyone attached to this disgusting matter will hurt with me!

At the door the room I still shake with contained rage. I have to still myself…I have to silence the thunder of my heart. I MUST be in control or this will spin far out of my ability to manipulate it. I have not been as strong or as distant as I should be. I must be numb, soulless and heartless, without connection and without weakness. This is the state I place myself in before I dare to cross this threshold again. On the other side of this door is only an obstacle, an impediment, a difficulty that stands between me and a simple goal.

It isn't Harry, beloved and cherished, nor is it Potter, curious and innocent. It's only the briefest of interruptions…an interlude in a life given over to pleasure and the serving of the self. There is no greater meaning here…I can't allow it to become my new world, and I was a fool to think I could have. Something must give…and it will not be me. I will not be subjected to mockery, scorned for abject failure, laughed at in discreet titters over something as pathetic as the weakness of the human heart. Not I!

-10

He is awake when I enter…looking relieved that I have returned. That subtle shift of expression from worried to overjoyed. I make that sense of contentment come alive in him…but that is not what I am here to give.

"Mmm…so glad you're back. I admit it, I missed you…come back to bed, lover. I can't even believe I'm saying that. Lover. It feels good. Not as good as you do…but it still feels strange saying it."

I steel myself for the inevitable. I can allow myself no feeling, no emotion. Anything that tugs at my heartstrings must be ruthlessly quashed and quelled before it take root and leads me astray.

"Well…that's more a matter of opinion really, isn't it? For lovers, there would have to be love, and I'm afraid we've a terrible dearth of that in this room."

That agonizing moment when the coldness in my voice and the distant, offhanded words register in his brain. He knows that something is terribly, terribly amiss. His expression is an immediate look of confusion.

"That isn't to say that it's been entirely unpleasant, merely that you may be attaching far too much fancy to something that was a comfortable little diversion, for awhile. It seemed churlish to leave without at least offering some kind of appropriate farewell, though, so I dropped back by to make sure you had my thanks for the amusement."

The look has become one of horror. Even as I recall similar looks from countless other incidents of days past on other faces, this one and this alone makes my blood run cold. I can see something inside him crumbling, some part of him descending into gibbering lunacy and anguish…and I cannot find pride or pleasure in it. This time, as he begins to ache with the realization that he is betrayed and unwanted, I ache alongside him. I want this to be over all the quicker, because I can barely control myself and my rebellious tongue. I want to salve the wounds and make them vanish, but I must dig them deeper, cut a little more cruelly.

"You…you don't mean that! You can't! I don't understand…last night we…you were happy! I know you were! I felt it! It wasn't…"

"It pains me to interrupt you in your self indulgent wallowing, but soft words in the bedroom are a common thing. I fear that, in your innocence, you may have taken them to mean far more than they do. They're a simple courtesy, nothing more. I suppose, if I am truthful, it was a little tiresome, and somewhat of a burden. Small wonder I'm weary of this…with as much effort as tending to your delicate sensibilities can be."

"You can't mean that! Someone…is someone making you do this?!"

His face is a mask of grief…and I can see the tears forming and welling up while he fights them off. There was shock and disbelief, horror and fear, and now anger and sadness. I will see him on the way to acceptance and terrible resignation, and then I will be done.

"Hardly! As if someone could…although, after a fashion, I suppose it could be said that someone has made this necessary. You. You make this tedious occasion necessary. Perhaps if I were dealing with someone more sophisticated, this kind of sordid display wouldn't even be needed, but it was my misfortune to have spent so much time and effort on someone poorly suited for the complexities of a mature relationship."

"How! How can you say that! Say those…things! I LOVE YOU! I've never loved anyone like this! ONLY YOU! How…"

It comes out in strangled bits, between gasps for breath while the tears begin to flow and the sobs heave up from his chest. Still clad only in sheets, buckled over by the pain that consumes him, there on the edge of the bed.

"How? It's simple truth. I've struggled to become a more honest person…and now that honesty does not serve you so well. How absent of character you are, that principles cut but one way for you. Wanting no part of such a defective person is the only logical conclusion for me. I'll take my leave now, if you don't mind. This is already boring me, nothing is served by dragging it out."

As I turn for the door he stumbles in the crude sheets that still drape around him and collapses on the floor in front me.

"Please! Don't…don't go! I…I can do better…I can be whatever you want! Tell me! Tell me what you want from me…and I'll make you happy again! I'll do anything! Anything! Just…just please…don't…don't leave me!"

And that is how I leave him. Weeping on the floor at my feet, sobbing out promises and begging for my forgiveness, as if it were he who committed some kind of wrong in this affair. I can hear his cries of sorrow from the hall while I walk away, the sounds of a soul in torment and misery. Others have heard the commotion. Word will spread soon enough.

I've met my commitment. He is ruined, and the tatters of his sanity are the evidence of my success. There was a time when I would have surveyed my handiwork with such pride…but all I feel is a creeping hatred of everything I am and everything I have done. A black and twisted loathing for the entirety of my life and the place it has led me to. Pansy. I will give her that hatred. I will pour out the whole of my rage onto her, and well does she deserve it.

-11

When I return to Slytherin commons Pansy is nearly alone, which is just as well. The fewer ears that hear what passes between us next, the better. I am in a towering rage when I arrive, simmering underneath the surface, like magma beneath a mountain, waiting to erupt with the slightest prompt.

"It is done. I left him in anguish, begging for my forgiveness, wallowing in a sea of his own tears. You have…what you wished. Others have already heard the cries of despair. My actions will be common knowledge even while we pass the time in distraction. You wanted utter destruction…and I have provided it. Now, if you'll forgive the crudity…I mean to have MY reward…and let me be explicit, my dear…if you deny my again, I'll feel no particular reason to ensure your comfort during the event."

Pansy hears the chill hiss in my voice, the venom only a Slytherin can muster in terse speech. Her calm has always been admirable, but then again so was mine once upon a time. The threat may have been heard, but her pride still looms too large to tolerate even a surrender when faced with imminent defeat.

"No. The answer, Draco, is no. There was no provision for my tolerating the attention of a lovestruck fool. You failed…utterly and completely. I can see it written on your face, pulsing in your veins. You pine for him. You ache like the tenderest virgin, like the soppiest Hufflepuff. It's disgusting to even look upon…much less from one such as you, who once crushed fools like yourself beneath your heels. SO…THE ANSWER…IS NO! I would never, NEVER, excuse the presence of a failure so stunning as your self in my presence, or in my bed. Go take your comfort from the one you so adore…if he'll have you back!"

The gage has been thrown down, a gauntlet at my feet once again. She has seen through me, and that wounds most of all. She knows precisely what she has done, every move calculated, while mine have been predicted from the start. The rage in me bursts forth and all I can see is red when I grab her hair and drag her kicking across the floor toward the suites, bellowing my fury to all in a spectacle that would have shamed me had I been rational.

Others come to her aid, dragging me off of her and pulling me across the room before I can do real harm, and no doubt I would, so great is my hatred and so all consuming is my rage. Between my incoherent howls and inarticulate curses, I hear her threats of revenge. Everything is burned down in the conflagration between us, every secret opened, every barrier smashed. Everyone will know of the cruel seduction I have undertaken purposefully. However it ends…I am already destroyed.

I stagger away from the hands that have pulled me to the exit, and stomp toward the outdoors. I need air! I need time, to calm, to think. My head is rushing and I cannot collect myself in such a state. I want peace and quiet, but I am to have none. When I emerge into daylight from spell lit halls, I find another commotion, this one also of my making.

When the mob of people parts enough to see, I recognize the crumpled form. He threw himself from the tower. It seems I underestimated the pain and suffering I brought to bear. Whatever strength he possessed, I hurt him deeper than even that strength could endure. There is nothing left for me to return to, no hope of reconciliation. In the battle between Pansy and myself, everything I could have salvaged has been laid ruin.

The rage flows out of me. Of the crowd, only one breaks away and approaches me. Ron. From him I would have expected a wrath to match my own and then some, but not this time. He is far past wildness, so aggrieved that all he has left is cold menace. Even in my shock, even in my state of horror I can make out his demand clearly enough. I'm to meet him atop the same tower from which Harry threw himself. We'll duel…or he'll seek me out whatever the cost, and finish it by whatever means are necessary.

It comes as relief. I give my assent. I want this. This expiation of my sins. I arrive before him, empty, as hollow as a reed. I leave my diary, the last witness to the events that have passed between Pansy and I, on the floor with its key. At least something will bring the truth to light. I don't care anymore. Death…death would be a small price to pay compared to living with this on my conscience. Conscience. I dared not imagine that I had one, but I deluded only myself. In that delusion I cheated myself of everything I could have had, and left only broken lives and misfortune in my wake.

When he joins me on the tower I am ready, my position carefully chosen. The duel is but a farce. This is my hope of freedom. While I open with a sputtered curse I know he can easily dodge, his strikes me full on, and I careen past the edge and close my eyes. Silence broken only by rushing wind. The same that caressed Harry as I should have done. I have wronged you, my only love. Forgive me.

In the Great Hall, Pansy enters the room as haughty as a queen, recovered from the shameful display between Draco and herself. There is but one social magnate in Hogwarts now, and that is her. It was odd though, that none of her coterie of hangers on were present this morning. She had presumed that they simply left early, it being the last day before the break. She left Slytherin alone, walked down empty halls, wondering at the quiet and absence of others…until now.

All are gathered, all standing, all waiting for her. At the head of them is Hermione Granger, a slim volume in her hands. The markings on it are clear even from a distance. The Malfoy Crest. A diary. Every pair of eyes is on Pansy, every face a glare of disapproval or disappointment. There are no allies to be found, even old friends turn their heads away. They know everything, every last sordid detail.

The jeers come soon, smashing the silence, thunderous boos and expressions of contempt. She is reviled, a reputation in shreds, a pariah to every person of every house. No fate could have been crueler than exile to a person whose only treasures were influence and power. When she flees in horror it is never to return, the last of her days spent with the words of loathing still ringing in her ears even decades later, the looks of utter disgust and revulsion still haunting her nightmares.

FIN